


it's wherever you are

by OverTheMoonShine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged up characters, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, slight mention of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverTheMoonShine/pseuds/OverTheMoonShine
Summary: Akaashi is drunk. Bokuto helps to take him home.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	it's wherever you are

**Author's Note:**

> written for the sensory prompt: "neon lights at 1.30am"

“There you are, silly!”

From where he’s seated on the floor, the college student turns to the source of the booming voice, wincing at the light. Bokuto is standing with his hands on his hips, framed against the bright, garish lights of the club behind him. Even so, they’re dull compared to the strength of his grin - a warm, brilliant one that belongs to the sunlight, and not the inky blackness of the 1am night sky.

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding when you said you were drunk, huh?” Bokuto laughs, finally squatting down, which, honestly, is a relief because Akaashi’s head is starting to pound again with having to strain his neck looking up. 

“It would have been easier if you’d just told me where you were,” he continues teasingly, plonking down in the space next to Akaashi on the dirty pavement and tucking his legs together, like they’re on some picnic instead of sitting along some street dotted with seedy bars. Even though he says this lightly, there’s something about the way he says it that catches Akaashi’s attention, even in his alcohol-soaked brain. Instinctive, like breathing, the way he’s tuned to his moods, even in as incapacitated a state as he is. 

Bokuto pulls out his phone and wiggles it in front of Akaashi’s face. The screen’s opened to the text conversation between the two, the last few messages from Akaashi just a mess of syllables after his brain gave up any form of motor-control with the last few shots he'd uncharastically, impulsively done. “I know I spell really badly,” Bokuto hums lightly, which is honestly an understatement given that Bokuto texts like a person with a minimal comprehension of spelling nor grammar, “but it was still really hard to figure out what you meant.”

It’s then that Akaashi notices that Bokuto’s breathing harder than usual - as if coming off the tail-end of never-ending sprints - how the front of his shirt is slightly damp with sweat. How his hands are shaking just a little - the way they do when he’s slightly nervous about a match but doesn’t want to admit to it. His stomach curls, both with the liquid poison still sloshing around inside, but mostly with guilt. Bright and burning like a tiny fire.

“You didn’t have to come running,” is what Akaashi says instead, sounding more accusatory than he means to. “I was fine.”

“Hey hey hey, don’t slander me - I  _ flew _ ,” Bokuto takes it in his stride, flexing his arms as if he’d really grown a pair of wings and soared here (which Akaashi honestly believes he’d be able to do if he really tried; there’s never any doubt in his mind when it comes to the full potential that is Bokuto). “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Akaashi thinks of  _ home _ , of what it means: endless arguments between two supposed adults about the same damn issue. He should have moved out to stay at the dorms for uni, but every dollar saved was a dollar faster he could shift out for real. The word bursts out of him before he thinks to regain his composure, to be the sensible, level-headed person the world thinks him to be, “No!”

All Bokuto needs to say is captured in the way he shifts the slightest bit closer to the younger boy. He is a solid presence against Akaashi, his warmth (heat still rolling off his body from his search) seeping slowly into Akaashi beside him. He shrugs, “Okay, we can just sit here then.”

So they sit like that for a minute, maybe ten, maybe a whole hour, saying nothing much. Being the person that he is, Bokuto bops along to the pop songs that drift out of the pub they’re outside of, even goes so far as to do his best attempt of a lip-sync, while seated. It doesn’t get a smile out of Akaashi (it honestly never does, sober day-time Akaashi is never amused either), but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

He waits until Akaashi finally reaches out, asks in a rough approximation of the calm, collected person he typically is, “Can I stay over tonight? If it isn’t too much of an imposition.” 

They both ignore the fact that ‘dashing around an area crowded with drunk people in search of your one drunk friend and then sitting outside said pub doing nothing while waiting for him to sober up’ probably ranks higher on the list of impositions that Akaashi has inflicted on Bokuto tonight.

Instead, Bokuto answers, with a thumbs up, “Of course, it’d never be."

“Thank you,” Akaashi says quietly, finally allowing himself a small smile for the first time the whole evening. “For everything, I mean.”

Maybe it’s his youth speaking, but Bokuto thinks it’s worth a million victories, maybe even more. His chest fills with the warmth of a crackling fireplace on a cold winter night, when you’re huddled together under a thick blanket with someone who knows your soul.

Thinks, as he gets up to his feet and extends a hand out to Akaashi who’s still sitting on the floor, he’ll make sure he’ll always have a place where Akaashi can go to rest in, better than the sidewalk of a dirty street. He’d build that hide-out just for him; he’d construct it piece by piece, even if it meant calloused palms and bleeding fingers. 

Akaashi looks up at him, and considers him for a moment, and Bokuto ducks his head, suddenly shy, like he’s so sure that Akaashi’s picked up on what he’s thinking of in that uncanny way that the younger boy seems to know what he’s always planning to do. 

Then Akaashi takes his hand and pulls himself up, stumbling slightly into Bokuto as he does, still a little unsteady on his feet. He doesn’t let go of Bokuto’s hand, seems to hold on the slightest bit tighter; and neither does Bokuto, he doesn’t think he ever will.

“C’mon Akaashi, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> welp - i suppose it's time for me to dip my toes into the haikyuu ao3 world! these two dorks have a direct line to my heart so '_______'
> 
> thank you for reading, and do leave a comment to let me know what ya think <:
> 
> find me on:  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/moon_froggo)


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